


slow and steady

by thir13enth



Series: seeing stars [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, and i am so ashamed, because the last time i wrote this the crowd went wild, because this ship was once so pure, shallura smut, so pure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there’s one thing that Allura hates about Shiro, it’s that he makes her wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	slow and steady

**Author's Note:**

> y'all asked for it. so here's a series.
> 
> drabble number 1 out of ? -- because there's more to come. 
> 
> no pun intended.

Allura, naturally, likes to take charge of everything.

But every now and then, Shiro is in control of the Paladins’ missions and the mastermind behind their longstanding intergalactic battles—with just her final say.

Allura, naturally, is the exact same when making love.

But every now and then, Shiro is in control.

Except in bed, she doesn’t give too much of a final say—she jumbles her words with moans.

Now, his lips are latched over her breast, his tongue teasing persistently like there’s no end to the circle he traces again and again. She’s not sure if she’s so high on the feeling she can’t tell the difference between his teeth and his tongue, or if she’s been sucked so raw that she can’t feel anything else anymore.

“…lower,” she whines.

He stops—just for a moment.

His breath hovers over her hardened tips—chilly and cool and sending shivers down her spine. She realizes that she’s grasping the sheets underneath her so tightly that her fingernails are digging into her palms. She unfists her hands and she remembers to breathe again.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

And he continues—slow and steady.

Now, his face is right up against her, and his nose brushes against her silver curls while his mouth works her like an expensive meal he is taking his damn time eating so that he can enjoy every bite. He’s at dessert and he’s not yet ready to leave the table and he’s savoring every lick off the plate and even from the spoon.

“…faster,” she whimpers.

He stops—just for a moment.

She feels the rumble of his voice at the center of her thighs. She wants to close her legs because she thinks she will lose all control if his words vibrate against her soft slick entrance but his hands—one metal, smooth and cold; one flesh, callused and warm—keep her thighs split apart.

“In a bit,” he murmurs.

And he continues—slow and steady.

Now, his hips are at the backs of her thighs and the rest of his body is between her legs. She’s propped the joints of her legs on his broad shoulders so that she’s cupping his head between her knees. He’s like the ocean tides going back and forth to the timing of the moon—watching her flushed face, parted lips, panting breath—and following her phases, like he’s found some kind of sense to her science.

“…harder,” she groans.

He stops—just for a moment.

He kisses the inside of her calves and then scoots closer—plants his knees even further against her—to adjust her hips higher. His hands move down past her waist, down past her hips, down past her tights, down past her shins. He crosses one of her ankles over the other, locking her feet behind him to keep her tight on him before he slides his hands all the way back up to her breasts.

“Soon,” he rasps.

And he continues—slow and steady.

She likes him quick simple sweet—with strokes fast hard deep, but Shiro—oh _Shiro_ —takes his _time_ and likes to see exactly how _far_ she can go before she comes, exactly how much _length_ she can take before she gasps, exactly what _angle_ makes her cry out, exactly the _rhythm_ that makes her close her eyes and arch her back and not care for a single tick that her hair is tangled and in her mouth, damp with her sweat and spit. He likes to feel every single inch of him at every single slant of his hips at every single beat of his love inside her and she can moan for hours and he _still_ won’t be done with her.

“… _Shiro_ ,” she huffs breathily, practically _pleading_.

She feels his smile over her skin.

“Shiro, I’m almost _there_.”

She hears his quiet laugh in her ear.

“Oh, I _know_ ,” he croons.

And so he continues—slow and steady.

 _Always_ so slow and steady.

If there’s one thing that Allura hates about Shiro, it’s that he makes her wait.

He makes her wait so long that she thrashes in impatient agony, so long that by the time he grants her everything she’s ever asked of him since their clothes dropped to the floor and the sheets fell off the mattress her mind goes numb, her senses are overwhelmed, and she can’t think straight any longer—and then she releases.

She shudders and vibrates and quivers with sparkling bubbling giggling pleasure that stems from the wide wide grin on her lips all the way down to all ten digits of her toes.

And she finds that well, she can’t quite hate him enough.


End file.
